“Relajate mija, todo está bien.”
My tía Mago’s fingers tenderly press against the base of my back, blurring into maroon cotton. A cold draft passes through my skin like needle pricks.
Another hand touches my shoulder with cautious unfamiliarity, its warmth scalding. A tall older man introducing himself as a hematologist smiles mournfully at my frail body attached to heart monitors and oxygen.
“Most women your age will live through ovarian cancer, Katerina. Now, what we should do from here on out is…”
His chipper voice dissipates into the blaring machine signaling its need of an IV bag replacement. Tía Magos fingers gently knead my throbbing shoulders. I attempt to regain my focus and force his words down my ear canals. Bristling at the fact he doesn’t know my name but letting it go.
“… it may be that you’ll have to start chemo then surgery or vice versa. But we won’t know until the biopsy tomorrow.”
I jolt at my tías fingers digging into my back. She sucks in her breath and clicks her tounge like a rattle snake warning they’re about to bite. Tía Mago leans her body forward and I look at her stern gaze. She wants to eviscerate this doctor. Starting at his throat she opens her mouth wide and bites down hard. Taking out strings full of muscle and vocal cords that she spits out on the ground.
The man’s eyes pop in horror taking a moment to tap where his throat used to be and stare in silence at the droplets of blood on his fingers. After this his lips open and let out a blood filled gurgle, more blood pooling out of his mouth and staining his white coat. He falls to his knees, convulsing to his death at my tías feet.
The door opens, the hematologist leaves the room unscathed.
“Este doctor no tiene corazon.”
These words chase after the doctor as a raging meteor, only to crash and crumble into millions of pieces against the floor.
I focus on tía Mago’s frustration, wondering what reaction I should be feeling.
I feel nothing. Absolutely nothing.
More like, I’ve finally acknowledged the fact that I’m a trans man and choose to live as myself after a grueling month at a mental health facility and want to live – type of nothing. I have no words to throw at the doctor, I’m not angry enough overturn a plate of yellow eggs and half eaten toast on the floor.
I’m just so tired. Please, can I curl under these blankets and never wake up?
An embrace from my tía causes tears and snot explode as I bury my face into her body. She holds me tightly as my crushed lungs stretch back into place.
My whole being is yelling. I claw at my tía Mago’s black coat, my choked sobs pleading for her to save me. She hums softly trying to harmonize with my screeches. Not wanting to take up space.
Knowing I’ve been silent long enough.
A gust of wind and soft squeaks of shoes reveal Mama and Kalixta. My face shielded by reams of brown curls only showing through a silt a forced smile.
“Has it been only you this whole time, Lucas?”
Kalixta asks as she sits at the corner of my bed. My mother surveying the hospital room to clean here and there.
Tía Mago’s hand lovingly hold my own. I nod yes.